Wistrit
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- We are looking for someone...
Captain Hommi said in his loud voice, and immediately most of the sounds in the establishment subsided.
- We are looking for a person who arrived in the city, presumably today, possibly within the next hour, - the captain looked at the visitors. - Have any suspicious individuals appeared here?
Silence in response. After another ten seconds, the visitors returned to their business, and it became noisy again.
The guard detachment set out in search. No one suspicious, except for a stranger sleeping at a table in the corner. The captain approached and slapped the table with his palm, and the stranger immediately jumped up.
- Take off your hood, friend, if you have nothing to hide.
- As you wish, Captain...
The stranger pulled back his hood. He shook his head, and a waterfall of snow-white hair was released from the warm cloak.
- It's you... you've come back again, - Hommi muttered. - It's not him, let's go. - He said to the guards.
- He is suspicious, why are you letting him go? - a voice sounded behind the captain.
A richly dressed man with a green ribbon on his sleeve stood behind Hommi and carefully examined the stranger with white hair.
- Under guard until the circumstances are clarified.
- Very well, Moderator Zubr.
Moderators in Highflood, and in general throughout all of Herwood, were called the junior representatives of the authorities. Most of them are paranoid, but no one cares.
It's strange that one of them appeared here; apparently, the matter is serious.
The Inquisitor was the only person who noticed this, and it made him think.
The white-haired traveler was led to a cell with four walls, a barred window, and a low, hard cot.
- Does it really matter where to sleep? - the traveler thought.
He didn't care now; fatigue overwhelmed everything. Settling down on the hard cot, he fell asleep.
Meanwhile, an unshaven man in a leather cloak and a wide-brimmed hat walked through the gloomy thieves' district of Highflood, calmly smoking a pipe with expensive tobacco and peering at the signs of the houses, looking for the right one.
- Cash... - a voice sounded from a dark alley.
Captain Hommi said in his loud voice, and immediately most of the sounds in the establishment subsided.
- We are looking for a person who arrived in the city, presumably today, possibly within the next hour, - the captain looked at the visitors. - Have any suspicious individuals appeared here?
Silence in response. After another ten seconds, the visitors returned to their business, and it became noisy again.
The guard detachment set out in search. No one suspicious, except for a stranger sleeping at a table in the corner. The captain approached and slapped the table with his palm, and the stranger immediately jumped up.
- Take off your hood, friend, if you have nothing to hide.
- As you wish, Captain...
The stranger pulled back his hood. He shook his head, and a waterfall of snow-white hair was released from the warm cloak.
- It's you... you've come back again, - Hommi muttered. - It's not him, let's go. - He said to the guards.
- He is suspicious, why are you letting him go? - a voice sounded behind the captain.
A richly dressed man with a green ribbon on his sleeve stood behind Hommi and carefully examined the stranger with white hair.
- Under guard until the circumstances are clarified.
- Very well, Moderator Zubr.
Moderators in Highflood, and in general throughout all of Herwood, were called the junior representatives of the authorities. Most of them are paranoid, but no one cares.
It's strange that one of them appeared here; apparently, the matter is serious.
The Inquisitor was the only person who noticed this, and it made him think.
The white-haired traveler was led to a cell with four walls, a barred window, and a low, hard cot.
- Does it really matter where to sleep? - the traveler thought.
He didn't care now; fatigue overwhelmed everything. Settling down on the hard cot, he fell asleep.
Meanwhile, an unshaven man in a leather cloak and a wide-brimmed hat walked through the gloomy thieves' district of Highflood, calmly smoking a pipe with expensive tobacco and peering at the signs of the houses, looking for the right one.
- Cash... - a voice sounded from a dark alley.
Tomorrow holds no promises
Except the ones we've made
Except the ones we've made